


Campaign Trail

by sainnis



Series: Fellowes Mews [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/pseuds/sainnis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy's trying to become Prime Minister and Ed's trying to hold it together.  Sometimes things have to really fall apart in order to put them back together again.</p><p>The fourth story in the Fellowes Mews series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nyagosstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyagosstar/gifts).



> This two-parter is set before Roy becomes Prime Minister. Written for and beta-ed by nyagosstar, because she wanted to see what happened in the early days of Roy's political career.

He was lost. 

Again.

Ed pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, checking the hastily scrawled number. This was the third time this year Al’s office had been moved and Ed had just gotten used to the location of the last one. Turning a corner, he walked down an empty corridor, his shadow stretching across the tiles as he passed door after door. 

Coming upon the last office on the floor, he saw a piece of masking tape stretched across the door’s glass window, covering up the name of the office’s previous occupant. Upon it, someone had helpfully printed ALPHONSE ELRIC, M.D. in dark ink.

Ed stared at his brother’s name, startled by how formal it looked. It wasn’t ‘the Alchemist of the People,’ but it was pretty impressive nonetheless. With a sigh, he hoisted the bag on his shoulder and tapped the glass with his left hand.

He heard movement within, and moments later, Al appeared, and his expression went from curious to concerned almost immediately. “Ed! What’s wrong?”

Ed nodded, stepping inside as Al waved him through the doorway. “You think I only visit you when I’m sick?”

“No, sometimes you stop by when your automail’s broken, too.” Al gave him a quick smirk, which Ed couldn’t help but return. 

“Nice office,” Ed said, looking around at the stacks of unopened boxes and half-dead plants. “Think you’ll be in this one long enough to unpack?”

“I think that may actually happen this time.” Al stuck his hands in his pockets of his long white coat, which had replaced his shorter one from medical school. “This one even has a window, did you see? It’s getting dark now, but the view’s pretty nice during the day.”

“It’s great, Al. Really great. I’m really proud of you.” 

Al brushed away his comments, embarrassed. “So seriously, what are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

Al rolled his eyes. “The hospital’s sixty blocks out of your way, brother.”

Ed set down his bag, rolling his shoulder. “I figured if you had a few minutes you could look at this joint. It’s been stiff the past few days.”

“You never need to wait a few days, you know. I’m always happy to help.”

“Yeah,” Ed said quietly, taking off his black coat and shirt. 

Al moved a stack of papers off one of his chairs, apologizing as he did so. “I haven’t actually had any patients in here yet. Supposedly I’m getting a clinic room soon.” 

“That’s probably a good thing. You could lose one in here and not find them for days.” 

Ed sat down, and Al took his arm by the elbow and started manipulating his automail, moving the joint back and forth. “Does it hurt?”

“No, just feels a little weird.”

“Describe weird.”

“I don’t know. Just not right. It feels like it sticks a little or something.”

Al’s supplies were slightly different than most other physicians; along with the usual array of reflex hammers and syringes, he also kept a fully stocked toolbox. “It looks like the mechanism’s clear, but you might have a few bolts tightened too far. I’ll make an adjustment or two to see if that helps.”

His brother looked through his kit to find the proper wrench. “You’re feeling okay otherwise?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just look tired, that’s all.”

“Says the guy who hasn’t slept more than six hours in the past few years.”

“That’s not true,” Al said, “and even if it was, that’s medical school. What’s your excuse?”

Ed gritted his teeth as Al started adjusting the bolts. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Am I hurting you?”

He never understood why people fixing his automail asked him this question; it should have been obvious enough to them. “It’s fine.”

After going through several sizes of screwdrivers and wrenches, Al surveyed his handiwork, moving Ed’s arm around in the socket. “Does that seem any better?”

Ed rolled his shoulder, grateful to find it was less stiff than before. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good.” Al wiped down his tools with a clean cloth, putting them away carefully. “So I’ve been reading about the campaign in the papers. Mustang’s practically guaranteed the nomination, they say. You must be feeling good about that.”

Ed pulled his shirt back on, recalling Roy’s grinning picture from the front page this morning. 

“I can’t imagine being Prime Minister. I know he’s had his heart set on a higher office for years, but still, I could never do that. It’s too much pressure. I mean, at most, I’m responsible for a handful of lives at a time. He’s got all of Amestris, and it’s already a mess as it is.” 

Ed shrugged. “Amestris is better than it was.”

“It’s getting there, but we’ve got a long way to go.” Al pushed aside a few folders from the edge of his desk and sat down. “So I guess if he wins you’ll be moving to a mansion or something?”

“Who knows,” Ed said, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots. He knew he should buy new ones, but he’d always preferred comfort to appearance. 

“Is Mustang worried at all about campaigning, or does he feel pretty confident? Considering the other people in the running, I have to say that probably he—“

“Al.”

“What?”

“Can I stay at your place tonight?”

Al opened his mouth, and then closed it. “I…of course you can. But—“ 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay, brother, I just—“

Ed sighed. “There’s nothing to say right now, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t ask. If you want to talk to me, though, you know you can, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Al bit his lip, and then took a breath. “I would go home with you now, but, the thing is, and I know this isn’t a great time, but it sort of happens that I might be a little late because I kind of have a date tonight.”

“A date? Anyone I know?”

“Well…” A weak laugh escaped from Al’s throat as he pressed his palms together, looking almost like he’d gotten caught stealing cookies from the jar. “Okay. It’s Riza.”

“I don’t know anyone named…” Ed stopped, staring at his brother. “Oh my God. Hawkeye? You can’t be serious.”

Al looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know if we’re serious, I mean, we just started seeing each other.”

“Al, come on. She’s fine and all, I guess, but…Hawkeye? Aren’t there any girls your own age to date?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would say that to me!” Al snapped, flushing. “How old were you when it all started? Eighteen? Nineteen? How old was he? Don’t even freaking start!” 

“That’s different,” Ed stared to say, but Al wouldn’t let him finish. 

“Not really. I can do simple math too.” Al took a breath, running a hand through his hair. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you yet. I knew you’d freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out! It’s just, you’re dating Hawkeye, and it’s like universes colliding, and I already have universes sitting on top of me right now, okay?”

“And whose fault is that? You can’t say you didn’t know what you were getting into with him. The man’s been bent on world domination since you were a teenager. Which wasn’t very long ago, by the way.”

Ed pointed at his brother with his automail. “He’s not running for fucking Fuhrer, Al. And anyway you’d better get used to the idea of him in charge, because odds are he’s going to be your girlfriend’s boss.”

“He’s not the only one running,” Al said.

“Everyone knows he’s going to win,” Ed said, his voice devoid of any triumph. “I thought Hawkeye liked Roy.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“I really thought she did.”

“She promised her father she’d protect him, but she didn’t love him, not like that. I liked her. I just never thought she’d notice. Roy didn’t have feelings for her. He was too busy lusting after you.” 

Ed stared at his brother. “We are so fucked up.”

Al scoffed. “Tell me about it.”

A moment of silence passed between them, broken by the sound of the telephone ringing.

Al picked it up. “Dr. Elric.” His eyes turned to Ed after a moment. “Oh, hi, Hughes! How’d you get this number? I don’t even know what it is yet.”

Making a throat-slitting gesture at his brother, Ed whispered, “I’m not here. Tell him you haven’t seen me.”

“Right. Well, you are good at your job. Um, Ed? My brother Ed?”

Ed clapped his palm over his face. 

“No, no, I haven’t seen him.” Al paused, and then did the terrible fake laugh he’d perfected for years in his armor. “Really? In my hospital? That’s so odd.”

Al covered the mouthpiece with his hand and hissed, “You were followed.”

Sighing, Ed closed his eyes, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Well, fuck.”

“Wow, he’s probably looking for my office. They keep moving it, you know.” Al shrugged at Ed in lieu of an apology. “Your timing is unbelievable! He just got here. Hi, Ed! You won’t believe it. Hughes is on the phone for you.”

Al tried to hand the phone to Ed, but he pushed it away. “I’m not lying for you anymore,” Al whispered. “Take the damn call.”

Ed sighed, taking the receiver from Al. “What?”

“Listen up.” It only took two words for Ed to realize that it wasn’t happy-go-lucky-Hughes he was talking to. It was knife-throwing-mother-fucker-Hughes on the other line, and Ed knew the difference. “Don’t even think about hanging up.”

“Hughes—“

“I’m talking, you’re listening. Here’s the deal. I don’t really want to get involved in this, but I don’t have much choice. I know there was a fight. I know you packed a bag. The problem is you can’t leave him tonight. Tomorrow is really inconvenient, too, but you can’t do it tonight.”

Ed stared at the phone, incredulous. “What the hell do you—“

“He doesn’t know about the bag. He doesn’t know you left, Ed. It needs to stay that way. If he’s going to get the nomination tonight, he needs to be at his best.” Hughes sighed. “That means he needs you there.”

“Believe me, he doesn’t want to see me.”

“That’s not true. Whatever happened, he needs you tonight.” Hughes took another breath, some of the fight gone from his voice. “You don’t know how much influence you have, and not just on him. On the people of this country. You’re a hero, even though you don’t like to make a fuss about it. You’re the Alchemist of the People. If you’re there backing Roy, then…”

“You need my PR. That’s just fucking great, Hughes. Really.”

“I’m not asking for much. Just show up together, say a few nice things, and then you can go. And if what you really want is to go, then I can’t stop you. If you don’t come tonight, though, this could spell disaster for him, and I know you don’t want to punish him for the rest of his political career over whatever happened between you, no matter how bad it was.” Hughes sighed. “He’s my best friend. I need you to do this for him. Please.”

Ed ran a hand over his face, aware that Al was hovering somewhere behind him. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Hughes let out a rueful laugh. “I’m not someone you should say that to, and you know it.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that—“

“Ed. We don’t have a lot of time to deliberate here. There’s a car downstairs that will bring you back to the house to pick up Roy. Are you going to be in it or not?”

Ed squeezed the phone hard enough to wonder if he was going to break it. “For you. I will for you.”

Relief flooded through Hughes’ voice. “Thank you. The driver’s name is Lionel. He’s one of my guys. I’m coming in another car; I’ll meet you at Brynwood House.”

“Fine.” Ed hung up before Hughes could profess any more gratitude. 

Al fiddled with one of the many pens in his breast pocket, getting ink on his fingers. “Everything okay?”

“Is it okay with you if I just leave this bag here for tonight?”

“Sure, brother, but—“

“There’s this thing tonight, and if I…” Ed drew in a ragged breath. “It’s not important. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

Al gave him a sad smile. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” He returned his brother’s smile. “But I appreciate you asking.”

Al crossed the floor in two steps and pulled Ed into a quick hug. “Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. You too.” Ed released him, and gave him a wave. “Uh, have fun tonight.”

Al had the good grace to look embarrassed, and Ed opened the door to his office, hoping he could find his way back to the hospital entrance. 

When he finally did find it, he saw a freshly waxed black Roadster parked on the street. He couldn’t see the driver behind the newspaper he held. Walking up to the car, he tapped on the passenger side window.

The man folded his newspaper and got out of the car to open the door for Ed. “Hughes told me you’d be along. I’m Lionel,” he said, tipping his hat. “He told me to remind you there’s a suit in the back seat for you to change into.”

“Thanks.” Ed climbed in, feeling vaguely sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to see Roy right now, and he certainly didn’t want to have to stand in front of a huge crowd and pretend that everything was fine. Worst of all, he’d have to do it in a suit. He fucking hated wearing a suit.

Lionel turned on the windshield wipers as the rain that had been threatening to come all day finally arrived, and Ed stared out the window, watching Central pass by in a blur of wet grey. 

They arrived at the house Roy and Ed shared—no, had shared—and the driver came around with an umbrella to let Ed out and lead him up to the house. Dragging the hateful suit with him, Ed walked with halting steps up the front walk. He fished for his keys in his jacket pocket, and shoved them into the lock with a sigh. 

Roy’s shoes, polished to a shine, were parked by the door. Somewhere upstairs, a record was playing, but Ed couldn’t make out the song. 

“I’ll be waiting outside, sir.” The driver closed the door behind him, and Ed was left standing alone in the foyer.

“Hello?”

Ed winced at the sound of Roy’s voice. “It’s me.”

Roy appeared at the top of the stairs, his tie undone around his neck and his shirt untucked. “Hughes said you went to see Al. You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Ed started up the stairs, the suit slung over his shoulder. “I just need to get changed.”

Roy stood in his way for a moment, and then moved aside, walking back to their—his?—room.

Using one of the guest rooms in the house, Ed stripped down to his boxers, walking into the bathroom to splash water on his face. He caught a glance at himself in the mirror, and thought about Al’s comment. I don’t just look tired. I look like shit. I feel like shit, too.

The silence in the house was drowned out in part by the record player, but it wasn’t enough to make Ed feel any less like a stranger in his own home. He pulled on the suit, grateful at least that Hughes had gotten his measurements right. The only thing worse than wearing a suit was wearing one with arms and legs that were inches too long. It took him several tries to get the tie to hang correctly, and it still felt like it was choking him. 

The record stopped abruptly, and he heard Roy’s footsteps across the hall. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” 

They walked single file down the steps, and Ed would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so awful. Roy pulled on his shoes, staring out the thin window panels along the door into the darkness. “It would be raining,” he said softly.

Lionel met them at the door, ushering them out to the car one at a time. Ed left a few feet between them in the back seat, although a mile wouldn’t have been enough. He drew in a breath, trying to quell the shaky feeling in his stomach. Why did he let Hughes talk him into this? Roy didn’t need him here. Roy couldn’t even look at him. The tension between them was a physical thing, pressing in against his temples until his head pounded. 

Never stay. That’s the rule. You broke the rule, you stupid fuck. When things get bad, you don’t stay around and hope they improve. You just leave. That’s how it works. 

They drove down rain-soaked streets on their way out of Central proper. Brynwood House was owned by the family of the same name, and they had been part of the political circuit of Amestris for generations. They had opposed the Fuhrer, and had given rise to the Freemen party, which currently had control of Parliament. Tonight the party would choose the candidate they felt best represented them. It would be a long drive out to their country manor, however, and the seconds seemed to tick by at an almost painful rate as they drove off the main roads and out of the city.

After ten minutes or perhaps fifteen hours—it was difficult to tell—Roy cleared his throat, his arms crossed over his chest. “Hughes said you were going to speak tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Do I need to be worried about that?”

Ed’s automail hand became a fist. “You think I would do something shitty like that?”

“I’m just asking a question.”

Ed glared at him, growing angrier by the second at Roy’s inscrutable expression. “Then you don’t know me at all.”

“Can I ask what you’re going to say?”

“I’m not going to embarrass you, if that’s what you’re asking. I think I’ve made that clear. I was a military dog too, if you can remember that far back. I know how to stick to a script.”

Roy’s mask slipped a little, and for a moment, Ed thought he saw a glimmer of regret in his eyes. “I was hoping by now you’d be a little calmer.”

Ed scoffed. “Calmer? What the hell do you want from me, you asshole? You want me to thank you for the opportunity to wax eloquent about your leadership qualities even as you’re shoving me out the door? I’m not going to be your fucking consort, and I sure as hell am not going to spend the next few years in a fucking sitting room or wherever the hell else you plan on sticking me.”

Ed saw the driver’s eyes flick back at them in the rearview mirror, only to quickly return to the road. 

“I don’t know why I even bother trying to talk to you,” Roy said, his voice significantly softer than Ed’s.

“I think you’ve said more than enough already.”

“You know what? Forget it. I don’t want you to speak tonight. You sure as hell don’t want to be there, so I won’t ask you to on my account.” Roy signaled the driver. “After you drop me off at Brynwood, take Ed back to Central.” He glanced at Ed for a moment. “Or wherever else he wants to go.”

Ed stared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

Roy’s body stiffened, and he kept his eyes focused on the seat in front of him. “You think I didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Don’t play stupid.” Roy bit his lip, turning to look out the window. It was pitch black out, and the only visible thing beyond the glass was the rainwater streaking across its surface. “I know about the bag.”

Fuck. “So I packed a bag. I was pissed.”

When Roy finally looked at him, Ed could see the pain in his eyes, and he was torn between the desire to soothe it away even as he was pleased to see it. “You packed a bag and left. You left.”

“I came back,” Ed said lamely. This wasn’t at all how he intended for this conversation to go. He hadn’t intended to have this conversation at all. 

“For what? To be my handsome little mouthpiece for an hour? Did you think it would hurt me less to leave me tomorrow?”

Ed gripped the edge of the seat to keep his hands from shaking. “You leave me all the time, and even when you are around, I’m the last person you think of. What do you expect me to do? Sit around and wait for you to notice I’m still here?”

“You said you were fine with this! You said that you would go through this to support me!”

“Well, I fucking lied!” Ed couldn’t help it; he was shouting now. “How could I possibly be fine with things as they are? I am better than this and you know it, and frankly, I thought you were too.”

Roy stared at him, and he stared back, and in that moment, Ed felt as though he could see the sparks rising up between them. It was like the way a lightbulb flashed just before going out. 

The driver swore loudly enough to make them both look at him, and Ed saw something dark dart in front of the car. They swerved to miss it, and the Roadster skidded off the road, the tires losing traction on the wet road. Ed felt the car start to roll, and he screamed, but his voice was lost in the crash of metal and glass.

It only took one second.

One moment they were flying, and the next, the entire world seem to collide into them. All the breath was knocked from Ed’s lungs, and he choked, his chest shaking in great ragged gasps as he tried to breathe. Breathe. You’re breathing. You’re alive.

A mewling cry escaped his throat, and the sound would have made him cringe if he hadn’t been in such complete shock. He was pressed hard against the door, and he reached out tentatively with his flesh hand to help right himself, relived beyond measure that his left arm appeared unharmed. There was something wrong with his automail, though. He tried to move it, but it didn’t seem to respond. His head ached fiercely, and when he touched his forehead, his fingertips were sticky with blood. 

“Roy?” His voice came out as a croak. “Roy? Lionel?”

No answer came, and he crawled up onto the seat on his knees, wincing as broken glass pricked through his pants into his right leg. Reaching up, he tried turning on the overhead compartment light in the backseat, but it didn’t work. “Shit, shit,” he said, reaching out with his good hand to find Roy. It was so dark in the cabin that he could barely see his own limbs. He found Roy’s leg, and ran his hand up Roy’s body until he touched his face. It was wet, but whether with blood or the rain streaming in from the broken windows, he couldn’t tell. 

Light. Need some fucking light. I’m with the goddamn Flame Alchemist and with broken fucking automail and I can’t fucking make a fire. Ed fumbled for a moment in Roy’s breast pocket and sighed with relief when his fingers closed around the lighter Roy often carried. Hughes had given it to him when they’d first enlisted, before Hughes even knew what Roy actually was. Ed flicked on the lighter, and a weak, stammering light appeared inside the cabin.

“Roy? Can you hear me?” Ed tried to move his automail again, but it hung uselessly at his side, and he gritted his teeth as his nerves buzzed angrily with pain. Blood ran down one side of Roy’s face, and Ed held the lighter close and saw a deep gash on his temple. The dim wash of light provided by the small flame didn’t give him enough to see if there were more injuries, and part of him wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. He couldn’t even tell if Roy was breathing. Ed felt his stomach clench, and he thought he might throw up. Swallowing back the taste of bile, Ed leaned forward to press his ear gingerly against Roy’s chest, and relief flooded him when he heard the faint sound of Roy’s heartbeat. 

The familiar scent of Roy filled his senses, and for a brief second, it brought him a measure of calm. He smelled warm, like spices and fire. Ed sat up, closing the lighter to allow him use of his left hand. He tried to open the driver’s side door, but the mechanism wouldn’t work. Flicking open the lighter again with a curse, he looked more closely at the door he’d been sitting next to, and realized it had smashed into a tree. 

“Fuck you,” he said, not caring that he was swearing at a plant. 

He heard a groan behind him, and Ed crawled back over the glass-strewn seats to Roy.

“What the…” Roy said, wincing as he opened his eyes. He looked up, staring incredulously at Ed. “Ed?”

“Hey,” Ed said, holding the lighter over Roy so they could see one another. “You’re awake.”

Roy reached up to touch his head, and groaned again when it came back covered with blood. “Ugh. My head.”

“It’s okay,” Ed said, making up shit the way he usually did when things were going exceptionally bad. “I think it looks worse than it is. Can you move everything else?”

Roy tested his limbs, and everything appeared to be in working order, though his movements made him wince. “Let me see the lighter.” Ed passed it over to him, and Roy held it up to Ed’s face. “You’re bleeding too.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“You should…oh my God, Ed, your arm.” Roy drew in a breath as he looked down at the broken metal hanging from Ed’s shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

“No, not really.” Ed wasn’t quite sure why he was lying. “I think it’s too damaged to hurt me now.”

Roy blinked, trying to steady himself. “What did we hit? Is the driver okay?”

“A tree, I think. Maybe two. It’s hard to say. The driver, um.” Ed had forgotten about the driver completely. “He’s not conscious.”

Roy started to push himself into a sitting position, but he fell back with a gasp, his face contorted with pain. “I think…” he said, groaning. “I broke some ribs.” 

“Don’t move,” Ed said, helping Roy as best he could back against the seat. “Just stay still. I’m sure help is coming. I’ll see about the driver.”

Ed climbed clumsily over the front seat, and swore when he found water and glass everywhere. The center of the windshield was broken, and Lionel was slumped over the steering wheel. Ed couldn’t see well enough to know how bad his injuries were, but the driver wouldn’t respond when Ed said his name. Reaching out, Ed pressed his hand against the man’s neck, trying to find a pulse. 

“Is he okay?” Roy said weakly.

Ed waited another minute, but he knew the man was already gone. 

“Ed?”

He made his way to the back seat again, and shook his head at Roy. “I’m sorry.”

Roy didn’t say anything, and Ed suddenly felt the full weight of their situation come down upon him like gravity. They were both bleeding, trapped in a smashed car in the middle of the woods with a dead man. And they were broken up. Or whatever the hell they were. Not together. Not right. And his fucking automail was broken. Again. 

“God dammit,” Ed said, clenching the one fist he had.

Roy looked like he might say something, but then he exhaled instead, wincing. He looked out the cracked windowpane. “The door won’t open, right?”

“Yeah. I tried them all.” Except the one by the driver. He couldn’t quite work up the strength to reach over the dead body. 

“Maybe you could…” Roy stopped, holding a hand to his bleeding head.   
“Damn, I’m really dizzy.”

Ed knelt on the floor next to him. “Help me,” he asked softly, trying to take off his coat. Between them both, they were able to remove it, and Ed pressed the fabric against Roy’s head. 

Their faces were close to one another, and in the flickering glow from the lighter, he would have sworn that he’d never seen Roy look so beautiful, despite the blood running down his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” Roy said quietly, “that you were here. I could have spared you this.”

“Don’t be,” Ed said. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone.” It was true. No matter how pissed he was.

Roy let his head rest, groaning a bit as Ed pressed a little harder on the wound. “They’re going to be…wondering where we are.”

“That’s good. It means help is coming.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked up at Ed. “Thank you. For helping me.”

“There’s no thanks required,” Ed said quietly. 

“Do you want to know something terrible?” Roy asked, and Ed nodded. “I can’t even remember the driver’s name. He’s dead, and I can’t remember. He died in a car with two people he barely knew.”

“It was an accident. It wasn’t his fault,” Ed said, although he knew the words were meaningless. 

Roy nodded mechanically, and then looked up at Ed’s head. “Someone should be holding a cloth to your head.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Someday there’s going to be someone else staunching the blood from his forehead, tending to his wounds. Another set of hands, probably both flesh, to look after him. Right now, he’s mine, for this moment, but soon, he won’t be. Maybe he isn’t even right now. 

“Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“You look kind of pale. Do you want to lie down?”

“Nah.” 

Where was their fucking rescue? This was the future Prime Minister bleeding here, Amestris! Ed craned his neck, waiting for the glow of car lights to come along the road. Surely they were on their way. Surely someone knew that they were here. Hughes must know. Hughes always knew. 

Roy started muttering, but Ed couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Are you okay?” Ed said.

“Ed, we can’t do this.” Roy sighed.

Ed’s heart beat harder and pain flared along his forehead with each throb of his pulse. He didn’t want to do this now. “Which part are you referring to exactly?”

Roy’s gaze wouldn’t allow Ed to look away. “The part where everything is awful and we scream and you pack bags and I tell you that I don’t need you.”

Ed took a shaky breath. “For the record, I only packed one.”

Roy’s free hand came to rest on his left shoulder. “I fucked up. I know I did. I took you for granted and it kills me that I didn’t see it before. And I can’t fix it or change it, but I think that if you leave then everything will be wrong.”

“Everything is already wrong. If it wasn’t, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Please, Ed pleaded, don’t say anymore because if you do then I won’t be able to stop myself from losing my shit completely and I won’t be able to leave you, not today and probably not ever.

“We’re fucked up but we’re not broken, Ed,” Roy said, only to have Ed laugh in spite of himself.

“I kind of am. But I guess you didn’t mean literally.”

Roy’s hand reached up to touch his face. “I can’t do this if I don’t have you with me. I swear to you that if they offered me the nomination and it meant that I couldn’t be with you that I wouldn’t accept.”

“Roy—“

“I would fucking leave it. I’d leave all of it. It’s not worth it to me to lose you.”

Ed pressed his lips together. “Even if I did stay, we still couldn’t be together, not all the time, not like we were…are… whatever.” 

A crafty smile appeared Roy’s lips. “I have a plan.”

“I don’t always like your plans.”

“You’ll like this one. I promise.”

Ed opened his mouth to speak, but headlights came searing into the cabin, blinding him temporarily.

“They’re going to drag us to hospital and everything is going to suck for days,” Roy said, speaking quickly. “You need to promise me that you won’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise! Here.” Roy swiped a thumb along his face, coating it with blood. “Swear it.”

“We’re swearing with blood like we’re eight years old now?”

“We’re sealing a bond with blood like men do. Come on.”

Ed sighed, but let go of the compress to do as Roy asked. They touched thumbs, and Roy gave a satisfactory nod. 

“Look, Roy, it doesn’t mean that I’m staying for good. A lot of shit went down and we—“

Roy suddenly leaned forward, kissing him hard and fast. The warmth and the stupidity and the cleverness and the humor and the power and the raw essence of Roy pressed into him, and Ed knew that even if he tried to leave now, he wouldn’t be able to. No one could make him break his own rules like Roy Mustang. 

“I fucking love you,” Roy whispered. “And I’m fucking sorry.”

Ed looked up as voices shouted their names, and more cars came to shuddering halts near the wreckage of their car, shining torches into the windows. He stared at Roy, pale and bloodstained and luminous. 

“I believe you.”


	2. Campaign Trail, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you going to vote for Mustang?"
> 
> The conclusion of Campaign Trail.

Al sipped his wine, debating for the third time since they’d sat down whether or not he should have ordered the red. Riza followed suit, her expression unreadable.

“This is a nice place,” she said, her fingers leaving prints on the wineglass. 

“Yeah,” Al said, clearing his throat. The wine was much drier than he’d anticipated. 

“It’s hard for me to believe there’s a place in Central I’ve never been. Although this is much higher class than I’m used to, considering who I work with.” She folded her hands loosely as she rested them on the table. “So you’re settling into your new office?”

He nodded. “It’s more than I need, really.”

Silence fell over them for a moment, and Al broke off a piece of bread from the basket between them, buttering it quickly. Think, think, stupid, say something. Tell her she looks amazing. Tell her you’ve been looking forward to this all week. Tell her you’ve been dreaming about her. No, wait, skip the last one. For the love of God, say something!

“So, are you going to vote for Mustang?”

Horrified by his own question, Al shut his mouth as Riza’s gaze snapped up. Politics, he thought. Never a good topic this early on. What the hell was wrong with him?

To her credit, Riza took a deep breath and smiled slightly. “You know the old saying about the devil you know, right?”

Al released the air he’d been holding and laughed a touch too hard. “Yeah.”

The waiter appeared to his left, and Al almost gave him a tip just for having impeccable timing. Riza ordered the linguini with shrimp, and Al ordered the same thing, mainly because he couldn’t get his mind to focus on the menu for more than two seconds. She started telling him a story about her office, and how strange it was to go through the day without worrying about waking up members of her staff. He rested his chin in his hand, letting her words wash over him, occasionally dropping in a funny line of his own just to watch her laugh. 

She caught him staring at her, and when he sat up nervously, she gave him a half-smile that would have made his knees give out if he hadn’t been sitting down. Riza adjusted the strap of her dress over her left shoulder. “You know, if we keep going out like this, I’m going to have to buy another dress. I think you’ve seen all three at this point.”

Al grinned. “I wouldn’t mind seeing them all again. Of course you look beautiful in everything, so it’s really up to you.”

She sipped her wine. “Good answer.”

The waiter appeared at his elbow again, and Al looked up, surprised the food had come so quickly. “Excuse me, sir. There’s a phone call for Brigadier General Hawkeye.”

Riza stiffened, exhaling softly. “I’m sorry, Al, I—“

“Don’t apologize.” Al shook his head. “Please.”

She rose from the table, brushing stray bread crumbs off her lap, and nearly bumped into a second waiter.

“Pardon me, miss.” The second waiter bobbed his head. “Dr. Elric, my apologies for interrupting, but there is an urgent phone call for you.”

Riza’s eyes met Al’s, and though he couldn’t say exactly what passed between them, he knew they were both thinking the same thing. 

Following behind his waiter, Al’s brain started up a litany of pleas. Not Ed. Please not Ed. Definitely not Ed. All right, fine, not Roy either. Not either of them, how about that? He took up the receiver, taking a quick breath to calm himself. “This is Dr. Elric.” 

***

They took Al’s car, but Riza drove them to the hospital. She kept both hands loosely on the wheel as she accelerated into the turns, and if Al didn’t know how ridiculously competent she was at such things, he might have been nervous. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” Hooking a finger inside his tie, Al loosened it, feeling like he wasn’t getting enough air. He’s not dead, he’s just hurt. He’ll be okay. This you can deal with. This you can help with. Breathe. “Thanks for driving.”

“No problem.” Riza reached over and took his left hand, holding it for just a moment before letting go. 

They pulled into the emergency lane, and Al exhaled, reaching into the back seat to fumble for his bag. “Dr. Sion is with Roy. She’s the best.” He forced a smile as he got out of the car. “I’ll see you inside.”

Al took off at a dead run, nearly knocking into a couple of orderlies on the way inside. He shoved his trench coat behind the nurses’ station as he moved past, and yanked his white one out of his bag. 

“Dr. Elric?” One of the older nurses looked up from behind a clipboard. “Your brother’s in curtain six.”

“Who’s he with?”

“Dr. Rhys.”

Al cursed under his breath, and gave her a wave of thanks. “Where’s Dr. Sion?” 

“She’s upstairs with,” the nurse paused, whispering. “the General.”

Of course Roy would have gotten processed more quickly; it didn’t do for politicians to wait around in an emergency room. Dr. Sion wasn’t stupid either; even medicine was political in Amestris.

Exchanging his mad dash for a very fast walk, he was nearly to curtain six when he heard someone say, “Oh shit.”

Yanking back the curtain, Al saw Dr. Rhys standing at his brother’s bedside, a needle in his hand and a bewildered expression on his face. “What did you do?”

Rhys backed up a step, holding up his hands as if expecting to be struck. “I was trying to remove his automail. He was in a lot of pain. He was screaming. I gave him morphine—“

“How much?” Ed’s right arm was a mass of metal and wires, and a deep gash on his temple bled still bled freely. He looked like a battered, broken toy, and Al felt bile rise in his throat. As he looked down at Ed’s unconscious form, he pushed aside all his emotions before they could overwhelm him. For just this moment Ed needed to be a human body in need of help, not the brother that Al would gladly die for a hundred times over. 

“It was just a standard dose,” Rhys stammered as he moved closer.

“Just back up,” Al growled, pulling his stethoscope from his pocket. He pushed aside the fabric of Ed’s torn jacket, pressing the diaphragm against his chest, surprised at how clammy his skin was. Ed’s heartbeat was sluggish and weak, and when Al listened to his lungs, he found his breathing was labored and far too slow. Reaching up, Al gently lifted Ed’s eyelids to reveal pupils the size of pencil points. It was textbook morphine overdose. 

“Naxolone. Now!” he barked, and Rhys scurried to one of the nearby drawers. Rhys hadn’t been useful enough to start an intravenous line, and Al didn’t have time for that at the moment. Instead he grabbed a tourniquet and tied it around Ed’s left bicep, watching as a vein slowly rose under the skin. 

“Green drawer! God, Rhys, are you blind?” Al snatched the vial out of Rhys’ hands, and after checking the dosage and disinfecting Ed’s arm, he injected him with the counteragent. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Al slammed the needle onto the tray, not looking at Rhys as he moved closer to Ed’s right side to examine him. 

“The chart said he weighed one seventy-five—“

“He’s got two steel limbs! You could have killed him!” Al took out his scissors, cutting off what was left of Ed’s shirt and coat. “God dammit, Rhys,” he said, looking down at Ed’s automail. Although it had been crushed in the accident, it was clear that someone had broken the release switch, which would have put Ed into complete agony. “You broke the damn release! Why didn’t you wait for me? You knew Sion paged me!” 

“I was on call.” Rhys stood up to his full height, arms over his chest. “She shouldn’t have paged you. You’re not supposed to take relatives for patients.”

It took all of Al’s composure not to punch the asshole right in the face. “If I hadn’t showed up, he’d be dead, you bastard. Get the hell out of here.” 

Rhys looked as if he might say something else, but turned away and slipped out between the curtains. 

“Ed,” Al said softly, “I’m sorry.” He listened to his brother’s heart and lungs again, relieved to find his heartbeat stronger and his breathing more regular. The medicine had done what it was supposed to, which was counteract the morphine, but that meant Ed would be in a world of pain when he came to. 

Al considered the gash on his temple for a moment; it would need stitches, but the bleeding was slowing down. It could wait. Right now he needed to find a way to get Ed’s automail off before Ed woke up. Under normal circumstances, it was pretty simple, though painful, to remove. The switch released the coupling from the port in Ed’s shoulder, and allowed the bulk of the mechanism to come away. The problem now was that not only was the majority of the automail smashed, the broken switch wouldn’t let Al remove it. The only saving grace in the entire situation was the fact the port itself seemed intact. If it hadn’t been, Ed would have needed emergency surgery, and that would have complicated matters tenfold. 

As Al started to pull together an odd assortment of tools from his bag, he heard Ed groan.

“Brother, it’s okay, it’s me,” Al said quietly, resting his hand for a moment on Ed’s forehead.

Ed’s eyes were screwed shut, his face pale. “Al,” he whispered, his breath hitching. “Where’s Roy?”

“He’s upstairs. He’s going to be okay.”

“I feel fucking awful.”

“You’ll feel better in a minute. I just need to get your arm off.” 

“Hurts.” Ed’s body grew rigid, his muscles tensing as he gritted his teeth. “Really hurts.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m working as fast as I can.” Al finally found the wrench he was looking for. “I need you to lie on your left side, okay?”

He helped Ed move, and he heard the curses streaming out of Ed’s mouth as he did so. “That motherfucking asshole broke me!” Ed gasped, a strangled groan getting stuck in his throat.

“Just hang on. I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

“Fuck, Al! You think?”

Using half the tools in his arsenal, Al finally got underneath the outer skin of the automail, opening up the central mechanism.

Ed’s whole body was shaking, wracked with pain. He heard his brother cover his own mouth to keep from screaming. “I’m almost there, I swear,” Al said, reaching deep into the mass of circuits and wires that made up nearly a quarter of Ed’s body. His fingers finally brushed against the right connection, and he pulled out the small wire from its socket. “Got it!” 

This time Ed did scream, but the sound died away quickly once Al took a step back with the automail in hand. He gently set aside the broken mass of metal on the tray, and then came to stand next to Ed. “Brother?”

Ed slowly uncurled, his chest heaving as he rolled onto his back. His mouth was open as he sucked in air, and Al could see Ed’s pulse bounding in his throat as he tipped his head back. “Thank you,” he said weakly, his eyes closed.

“It’s nothing.” Al checked his vital signs again, and then started cleaning up the wound on his temple.

Ed opened one eye. “I don’t remember what happened before… did I pass out?”

Al made an indelicate sound as he started dabbing disinfectant on the gash. “Not so much pass out as experience the beginnings of a drug-induced coma.”

Ed blinked sleepily. “What?”

“That bastard jacked you up with enough morphine to kill you. Let’s just say that someone is getting fired. And possibly getting his ass kicked.”

Ed’s mouth curved in the ghost of a smile. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“Like I’d be anywhere else.”

***

Hughes shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair outside Roy’s room. It had been nearly an hour since they’d taken Roy to x-rays, and left Hughes to pace the halls like a caged animal. Hawkeye had long since tired of his restlessness and had gone downstairs to see if there was any word yet on Ed. Checking his watch for perhaps the fortieth time in the last half hour, Hughes sighed. It was close to one in the morning now, and he realized he’d been up for almost nineteen hours. It wasn’t a record by any stretch, but the last few hours had frayed what was left of his already shaky nerves. 

Movement down the end of the corridor drew his eye, and he bolted upright fast enough that he experienced a brief moment of dizziness. Two nurses were pushing a gurney down the hall, followed by the doctor that had been the first to examine Roy.

“Good news,” Dr. Sion said. “His ribs aren’t broken.”

Roy narrowed his eyes in her direction. “They just feel like they are.” He shifted his attention back to Hughes. “You look like hell.”

“It hasn’t been the best night ever.”

Scoffing, Roy winced as the nurses rolled his bed back into place and locked the wheels. “Yeah, well, I’ve had worse.”

Hughes laughed in spite of himself. “Me too.”

Dr. Sion wrote something on her clipboard, looking up to give Hughes a brief smile. “He’s going to be fine. It’s a bad concussion, but he’ll feel much better in a few days. His ribs are bruised, and they’re going to take longer to heal. I’d like to keep him overnight for observation.”

Hughes nodded, his breathing easier now than it had been in over an hour. “Of course.” He took off his glasses, cleaning them on the hem of his untucked shirt. “How long do you think it’ll be before he’s back on his feet?”

“He’s a war hero. He’ll think he’s ready before he actually is. You’re his campaign manager, right?”

“So it would seem.”

“If you have any sway over him at all, make him stay home for the next few days. Better if you can make it a week.”

Roy frowned at them both. “I am lying right here, you know.”

Hughes rubbed the back of his neck, ignoring Roy. “I’ll try.” He held out his hand. “Thank you. That never really covers it, but thank you.”

She shook Hughes’ hand, looking back at Roy. “You were halfway charming even when I was stitching you up. That’s more than I can say for ninety percent of my patients. I might have to vote for you after all.” 

Roy grinned up at her. “Vote early and often.”

Hughes glanced at Dr. Sion, who shook her head at him slightly. “I gave him a shot of painkiller. He’s going to be a little loopy.”

“I can handle that.”

“Don’t let him get out of bed. If you need anything, just ring the nurse.” The doctor excused herself, promising to return in a while to check on him. 

Hughes pulled a chair close to Roy’s bedside, grateful that at least this one had a cushion. He still felt like he couldn’t quite get enough air, but the feeling was starting to subside.

Roy lay on his back, propped up by several enormous pillows. He was tentatively poking at the stitches in his forehead, and wincing every time he touched them.

“Probably shouldn’t do that.”

“Stitches suck.”

“True, but they’re better than bleeding from the head.” Hughes looked closer, inspecting the doctor’s handiwork. “It probably won’t scar, though. She’s pretty good.”

Roy gestured at the thin scar near his eye from the bullet that nearly stole his sight. “Do you think it’s strange I have more scars from after Ishbal than before?”

“Not really. The same is true for me.”

Roy watched him for a moment, and said, “You look like crap.”

“You already said that.”

“It’s still true.” 

Hughes rubbed his eyes, nodding. “I’m sure. It’s been a pretty crappy night.” 

Roy’s pupils unfocused for a moment, and then steadied on Hughes’ face. “Maes?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Ed okay?”

“Al’s with him. We’re still waiting for word, but as soon as there’s news, Hawkeye will let us know.”

Roy nodded, blinking several times. “I meant to ask earlier. Did I ask about him earlier?”

Hughes reached out and gripped Roy’s closest hand for a moment. “You did. You just don’t remember.”

“I’m really glad you’re here, Maes.” A smile flitted across Roy’s pale face. 

“I could say the same about you.” Hughes blocked out the image of the wreckage before it could solidify in his mind. “When I saw the car, I couldn’t believe you were still alive.”

“The driver died,” Roy said softly.

“I know.” Hughes adjusted his glasses with his middle finger. “We’ve been in contact with his family.”

“I didn’t see the deer,” Roy said, staring at the ceiling. “I was fighting with Ed. We were arguing. It was bad.” 

“You told me about it earlier,” Hughes said gently. “But you apologized. You and Ed will have time to talk things out. You just have to be willing to do the work.”

“He’s got to be in pain,” Roy said, grimacing. “His arm…his side of the car hit the tree. He was bleeding…”

Hughes held up a hand. “Al will know what to do. Ed’s very tough.”

Roy scoffed. “Not as much as he wants us all to think.”

“Well, you certainly don’t have that in common.” 

Roy fell silent, closing his eyes, and Hughes watched him breathe for a minute. With stitches in his head and bruises on his cheek, Roy looked more like a cadet who pissed off the wrong lieutenant than a former General. In some ways, he appeared to have hardly aged at all from their early army days, but then Hughes would see the fine lines around Roy’s eyes—lines he knew were deeper and more visible on his own face—and he remembered they weren’t boys anymore. 

“I’m going to make things right,” Roy said quietly, his eyes still closed.

Hughes smiled faintly, even though he knew Roy couldn’t see. “Just make sure he knows you’re sorry.”

Roy’s eyelids opened slightly. “I did apologize.”

“You may need to do it a few more times.” Hughes looked down at his hands, spinning his wedding ring. “You say it as many times as you need to. Eventually he’ll know you’re serious.”

“I want to see him.”

“You will. But not right now.” 

Roy sighed, holding his ribs. “Soon, though?”

“Yeah. Very soon.”

“Maes?”

“Yes?”

“You are the best man I know.”

Hughes shook his head. “You don’t know that many people.”

“I do, too.”

Smiling, Hughes stood, placing his hand on Roy’s head as he often did for Benjamin when his son couldn’t sleep. “Just rest. Everything is going to be all right.”

Roy blinked up at him. “We need to talk about press. There are going to be questions, reporters—“

“I’ve got everything under control. My best people are already on it.”

A surprised expression came over Roy’s face, followed by calm. “So it’s okay if I sleep now?” 

“Absolutely.”

Roy’s breathing slowly evened out, and Hughes pulled the cord on the light over his bed, turning it off. It was strange to think, even after all these years that he might not have been here to see Roy’s campaign get off the ground. He’d worked so hard behind the Furher’s back, finding ways to angle Roy into better positions, giving him the best exposure possible. Though for all his planning things hadn’t gone the way he intended, strangely enough Roy’s dream of leading Amestris was on its way to coming true, and his dream of making that a reality was unfolding with each passing minute. 

He heard footsteps outside the room, and he crossed to the door to find Hawkeye approaching him, two cups of coffee in her hands. 

“Thought you might want some,” she said, offering him one. 

“You’re a godsend,” Hughes said, breathing in the scent of slightly burnt beans. “How’s Ed?”

“He’s had a rough time of it, but he’ll pull through.” Hawkeye sipped her coffee. “One of his doctors nearly killed him, but luckily Al was there to save him. I think Al is having the doctor taken out back and shot as we speak.”

“I didn’t think they had an execution area at this hospital.”

Hawkeye nodded. “It’s new.” 

Leaning against the wall, Hughes drank his terrible, wonderful coffee. “So they’re going to be okay.”

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“I do.”

“Mustang’s not really great at this stuff, you know.”

“I do know.”

“Al’s going to have him killed if this doesn’t work out, you know.”

“I know that, too.” Hughes cocked his head to look at her more clearly. “From what I hear, you’d better watch yourself as well, or you may have Ed trying to arrange your death.”

Hawkeye shrugged. “I’ve had contracts out on my life before.”

“Al’s a great guy.”

She fixed cold gray eyes on him, not unlike the barrel of the gun she always carried. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Suit yourself.” Hughes finished his coffee. “He really likes you, though.”

“I know.”

“Do you think—“

“Hughes. Seriously. New topic.” Hawkeye gave him a fierce look, and Hughes relented.

“I have new pictures, if you want to see them.”

Hawkeye slid into the very uncomfortable wooden chair. “What the hell. Sure, let me see.”

***

The deafening crash echoing in his ears was the sound of the world stopping.

Roy blinked, suddenly freezing. Rain streamed down the broken car windows, and he tasted blood in his mouth. “Ed,” he called, his own voice drowned out by the storm. It hurt, everything hurt, and he looked down at his body to find his clothes were coated in glass and blood. Crawling across the back seat, he found he was alone.

“Ed!”

He pulled himself up desperately, crying out as new pains awoke with his every move, and hauled himself over the front seat, landing hard on his chest. He felt something inside him break, and he moaned into the leather seat, sucking in a breath to keep from passing out. As he sat up, he felt a body beside him, crumpled against the steering wheel. Roy reached out, tentatively touching the shoulder closest to him. “Ed? Is that you?”

He brushed the blond hair out of the driver’s face, and his fingers came away covered with blood. “Ed?” As Roy looked closer, he realized that Ed’s neck was turned slightly too far, and that the golden shade of his irises had turned to brass. Bile rose in Roy’s throat as he pressed his hand against Ed’s throat, trying to find some sign of life, but he knew that wasn’t going to, and he knew that Ed was already gone, and that nothing would ever be good again. He screamed Ed’s name, and then he just screamed, the sound finally getting louder than the reverberating crash in his ears. He couldn’t stop, and he felt his whole body start shaking—

“Roy!”

Roy gasped, his lungs rattling. Ed was leaning over him, shaking him, speaking his name. “Roy, wake up. Just wake up.” Ed’s eyes softened in the dim light of the bedside lamp when Roy finally met his gaze. “Hey.”

Roy groaned as he sat up, his ribs screaming at him, throbbing in time with his pounding heart. Reaching out with both hands, he touched Ed’s face, savoring the warmth of his skin. “You’re alive.” 

“Of course I am.” 

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against the side of Ed’s throat. Ed tilted his head back, and Roy felt the muscles move beneath his skin, felt the insistent beat of Ed’s pulse against his lips. He could hear Ed breathing, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to let that sound replace all others. 

“It’s over,” Ed said quietly, using his flesh hand to stroke the skin between Roy’s shoulder blades. “I’m here.”

Roy held Ed for a long moment before he released him slowly, careful not to bump Ed’s right shoulder. His port was covered with a light bandage just to keep it clean, but Roy knew the flesh around it was still tender. He looked up into Ed’s face, staring at the dark bruises that surrounded his eyes and smudged his cheekbone. “I dreamt that you died,” he whispered, tangling his fingers in the loose blonde tendrils that trailed over Ed’s chest. 

“You have stupid dreams. No offense.” Ed reached out, wiping away the sweat from Roy’s forehead with the back of his hand. 

“It was the accident,” Roy said, closing his eyes. “You were driving. And there was all this blood…your neck was broken…”

Ed said nothing, and instead lay back against the pillows, pulling Roy gently down with him, keeping him to his left side. Resting his head against Ed’s shoulder, Roy exhaled, adjusting himself until his ribs stopped protesting. 

“I usually dream about the bad events in my life right away,” Ed said, using his good hand to trace the veins in Roy’s forearm. “I haven’t dreamt at all since we got home from the hospital, at least not that I can remember.”

“You don’t sleep well with your automail missing.”

A faint smile crossed Ed’s lips. “Al was the only person who knew that until you.”

“I’m sorry that I woke you.” Roy pressed a light kiss against Ed’s collarbone. “You’re not getting enough rest as it is.”

“I’ll be fine once I get my arm back.” Ed’s fingertips were cool against Roy’s skin. 

Breathing in the scent of Ed’s hair, Roy gave a soft sigh. “God, I missed you.”

“You’ve said that so often that I’m starting to believe it’s true.”

He had taken Hughes’ advice on this, but it didn’t make the sentiment any less sincere. He had missed Ed, missed the way he smelled, the way he felt—alternately cold as steel and then blissfully warm—missed his sharp tongue, the way he tasted. 

“It was worse than you dying,” Roy murmured.

“What?”

“In my dream,” he said, looking away from Ed. “I knew you were gone, and that I could never make it right. That I would have to live with the knowledge that I hurt you. That I ruined the only good thing I had.”

Ed sighed, pressing his mouth against Roy’s hair. “Things aren’t perfect. We have a lot to figure out. But you’re going to have to let yourself off the hook a little if you’re going to get well, and frankly, I need you to get well, because sooner or later I’m going to need to fuck you.”

A little laugh escaped Roy. “I hope sooner.”

“That’s what I’m saying. So get over your guilty self and heal faster, dammit.” 

Roy closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of Ed’s breathing. “I just need you to know that I’m sorry I was such a bastard.”

“I do know.”

“Do you forgive me?”

Ed exhaled. “Do you need me to say it right now?”

“I would sleep better if you did.”

“Do you think I’d be here in bed with you if I hadn’t?”

Roy hesitated. “Um, no?”

“Exactly.” 

Holding his breath for a long moment, Roy tried to figure out what to say in response, but Ed bent down, pressing his mouth against Roy’s instead. It wasn’t a soft kiss; it was hard, fast, adamant. Ed licked his lower lip before he spoke. “Do you get it now?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” Ed tucked his good arm along Roy’s side. “Now go to sleep.”

Roy decided it was really in his best interests to start listening to Ed more, and he did as he was told.


End file.
